The Geographer's Library

Jon Fasman
He paused briefly while putting his coat on and exhaled with impatience.
“No, this place where you first saw me does not,” he said, staring fixedly at
me. “I was there, since you do not ask but wish to, because Jaanja had written
about it in his letters home. I wished to get some sense of my brother’s American
life, so I went there for an afternoon glass of brandy. But still I cannot see
why this will be a part of my brother’s obituary, and I ask that if you really are
planning to write such a thing, you do so quickly. I ask also that you respect
the sanctity of the dead and not speak ill of him.”
He kissed Hannah on both cheeks and bade her good night with a courteous
bow. To me he slung a glowering harrumph as he teetered out the door
and around the side of the house. I braced myself, expecting a torrent from
Hannah for insulting her guest, for my impious curiosity, and for any number
of other things that I might have done or omitted doing that I did not yet
know about.
Instead she shut the door behind him and closed her eyes, leaning her
head on the doorframe. I thought she was crying. I saw her wall of reserve
and poise slip and crumble, and as she lifted her head, I saw her try to rebuild
it. By the time she turned to look at me, she was smiling, but the smile was
thin and brittle. “Oh, Paul. What a mess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that ...I don’t know, Paul. You read Hamlet, right?”
“Sure.”
“I was Ophelia in a production in college. I lived with that play for a year.
Do you remember it well?”
“No, unfortunately. Why?”
“The Player King’s speech?” She took my hand, interlocked her fingers
with mine, then dropped it. I nodded uncertainly. She looked grave, older,
tired, and troubled: her eyes flickered instead of glowing, her face was pale,
and her features had a fevered sharpness that made me think she was sick.
“Do you remember how it ends?”
“I don’t.”
“‘Our wills and fates do so contrary run, / That our devices still are overthrown:
/ Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.’”
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